


The Overwatch Carol

by bzarcher



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Holidays, Hope, Multi, Nightmares, Pharmercy, Reconciliation, Songfic, Widowtracer, Winter, anahardt, ice bears, past reaper76, reassurance, remembering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 15:30:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8758555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bzarcher/pseuds/bzarcher
Summary: Songfic taking a look at different Overwatch characters and pairings around Winter and the holiday season.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first try at doing a songfic in...uh...practically ever, but the idea wouldn't let me go, so here we are.
> 
> Lyrics are from [The Atheist Christmas Carol](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E20PpEsU3oE) by Vienna Teng. If you wanted to listen to the song on repeat while you read...well, that's pretty much how I wrote this.

_It's the season of grace coming out of the void_

_Where a man is saved by a voice in the distance_

 

On a winter’s night, a broken figure in blue armor looks to the sky, her eyes unable to focus as snowflakes fall past her eyes. She hadn’t even seen the shooter who had slapped her out of the sky, just registered flying one moment and crashing the next.

The angel that descends to her has wings of spun gold that shine with their own light, illuminating the snow as she lands. Gloved fingers gently reach out to comfort Fareeha, stroking the exposed line of her jaw. The golden glow intensifies until it has turned night into day, and when it passes the pain has gone with it, the worst of her hurts mended. As Angela’s tears roll onto her armor and freeze against the cold metal, Fareeha tenderly reaches up to draw her close, ignoring the barrier of their suits, murmuring her love and thanks.

* * *

_It's the season of possible miracle cures_

_Where hope is currency and death is not the last unknown_

 

The cold makes Reaper ache.

He doesn’t like to admit it - he’s put far too much into the ‘unstoppable badass’ image to be seen complaining about the way his joints throb and his muscles burn. How even the boosts of strength and energy he gets when he’s able to feed seem to barely relieve the constant background noise of his dying and regenerating nerves on days like this.

He doesn’t admit it - but it also doesn’t make him any less miserable.

He’s been in bed in the safehouse he’d set up in preparation for the next job all morning, trying to get as comfortable as he can, when he notices his phone flare to life with a distinctive purple glow. Growling - what has that girl done _now?_ \- he reaches out to pluck it from the nightstand, trying to ignore the painful pops from his knuckles as they bend.

The familiar sugar skull icon dissolves as he unlocks the screen, and after a moment is replaced by a journal article of some kind - almost too technical for him to read, but he’s able to follow the basic ideas, and it makes his eyes go wide beneath the mask as he looks back at the top of the page to read the title.

Recovery and restoration of necrotized tissues through the use of tuned nanosurgical treatment - _A. Ziegler, L. Dos Santos._

The note attached at the end includes the address of a private clinic in Hong Kong that he’s used before. One that Talon has no influence over, and has been provided with several ‘liberated’ examples of Caduceus tech along with a few ‘recovered’ SEP files in the past.

- _Feliz Navidad, Gabi_.

Reaper still hates the cold, but suddenly his pain isn’t quite so bad. Groaning, he swings his legs over the side of the bed. He needs to make a few travel arrangements.

The job can wait.

* * *

_Where time begins to fade_

_And age is welcome home_

Ana didn’t understand why she was so nervous as she looked herself over in the mirror. Hadn’t they done this before? Countless times?

Maybe it was because ‘Mrs. Claus’ didn’t need a wig for her white hair, these days. Perhaps because she remembered how she used to look in this outfit and saw how her body had softened, how her face had become lined with pain and so many hard years since she had celebrated with so many of these same friends.

The knock at her door startles her. How long had she been lost inside her own thoughts? Shaking herself slightly (making the bells attached to her belt chime and dance), she turns away from the mirror before she speaks. “It’s open!”

Reinhardt doesn’t need any help with Santa’s beard these days, but that has never bothered her. Her brave lion wears his age well, proud and unbowed despite the years they’ve seen. The deep crimson coat, lined with white fur, makes him the perfect Father Christmas for the party, and his eye twinkles with amusement as he shakes the heavy sack slung over his shoulder. “Are you ready to bring gifts to our good little girls and boys, my dear?”  

“I’ve no idea how you talked me into this after all these years, but I suppose I’m as ready as I will ever be.” He leans in to gently buss her cheek, his beard tickling against her chin, and she smiles in spite of her apprehension. 

“Ahh, but how lovely you look, my dear!” She looks at the genuine admiration shining in his eye - the delight in his face - and that nervous tension melts like ice in the sun. The problem was that she had been looking in the wrong mirror.

“Well, then. It wouldn’t do to be late.”

* * *

_It's the season of eyes meeting over the noise_

_And holding fast with sharp realization_

 

Hanzo had no use for Christmas. What was the point of celebrating a holiday that had no meaning for him? What was the point of any of them pretending he was welcome in this place, with these people? What was the point of these incessant songs? Of the ridiculous outfits so many of them had put on? (He’d dressed in a proper suit with a red dress shirt to fit the ‘theme’. Several of them had ‘suggested’ he put on a hideous sweater, but Hanzo had firmly drawn the line.)

His funk deepened the more the music and caroling got louder, and Hanzo found himself checking the clock on the wall, trying to calculate the earliest possible time he could escape without making a scene.

As Tracer, Reinhardt, McCree, Dr. Ziegler, Hana, and Lucio cheerfully murdered another carol, he swept the crowd again, and stopped as he realized Genji was looking directly at him.

Holding up a small package, wrapped in blue and white paper, and tilting his head slightly, gesturing him to come over.

Well. Perhaps he wasn’t _totally_ unwelcome here.

He nodded to Genji, and tried to scowl less.

* * *

_It's the season of cold making warmth a divine intervention_

 

Widowmaker knew she _should_ feel something as she stared across the snow covered Paris skyline. All the stories about this city - all the memories from Amélie’s visits to this city - how much the woman she had once been had loved this time of year.

All she could feel right now aside from the cold that she pretended not to notice was her annoyance at how the snow would affect target visibility if someone chose to attack her in this moment. Especially since she’d left her recon visor downstairs in the bedroom.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d sat on the hotel’s rooftop when she felt the heavy wool coat she’d worn earlier in the evening settling over her shoulders, followed by slim arms wrapping around her waist, and the contrasting feelings of unyielding metal and gentler flesh pressing against her back. Many times Tracer - _Lena_ \- was an endless fountain of words...but sometimes she understood when quiet said even more.  

Widowmaker closed her eyes, and let herself lean back into the silent embrace.

_You are safe here, you know_

* * *

_Don't forget_

_Don't forget I love_

_I love_

_I love you_

* * *

_It's the season of scars and of wounds in the heart_

_Of feeling the full weight of our burdens_

 

He comes here every year. Even though he knows the person he’s visiting isn’t there. Was never there, really, but now...well. His boots crunch through all the crap on the ground as he walks, his visor tucked into the pocket of the long coat he’s wearing, a pair of dark glasses concealing his eyes as he arrives at a grave - one of thousands here at Arlington, the white headstones half buried under the thick Virginia snow.  

Kneeling down, he can feel the chill from the compacted snow and the cold ground seeping through the khakis he’s wearing. His gloved fingers brush the snow away, clearing off the headstone and gently tracing the letters cut into the marble.

 

 **Gabriel Reyes**  

**Medal of Honor**

**Major  
** **US Army**

**Dec 14 2020  
** **May 23 2070**

**Omnic Crisis  
** **Overwatch**

  **Silver Star  
** **Bronze Star  
** **Purple Heart**

 

Sometimes Jack would swear there are eyes watching him here, even though he knows he is alone.

Sometimes Jack wonders if it might be him.

Jack knows the face hiding under that damned mask. But he has his doubts about if the man he’s mourning is the same as the one who he’s fought again and again.

The soldier bows his head, and closes his eyes. “Happy birthday.”

* * *

_It's the season of bowing our heads in the wind_

_And knowing we are not alone in fear_

 

The first thing Mei did when she was allowed to leave the hospital was arrange for a memorial for each of the Ecopoint: Antarctica team who didn’t come out of the ice. Sometimes she wonders if her name should have been placed on the marker as well.

She wraps herself in thick furs and heavy gloves, but she isn’t really warm.

She drinks hot tea at every meal, but when it touches her lips it doesn’t feel the same as she remembers from before.

The ice is inside her now, and it will never melt.

It saved her, out of all of them, but she doesn’t know why.

The ice protects her, but sometimes when it swallows her up she feels certain it won’t release her, this time. Silently screaming as the rest of the world passes, while she’ll be frozen, staring through the ice forever…

Mei starts awake, and shivers. For a moment she forgets where she is, what has happened, and then a heavily calloused but incredibly gentle hand is wrapping around hers. Words in Russian she’s too frazzled to translate are murmured in her ear, but the reassuring and gentle tones help ease her mind.  

Aleksandra understands that not all strength comes from muscle and bone, but there are still ways she can lend her aid to this battle.

* * *

_Not alone in the dark_

 

In the quiet comfort of their quarters, the Valkyrie and the Protector hold each other as they lay in bed, grateful for another day.

 

In a dark room lit only by the glow of monitors, Sombra gets a notice about a flight being booked from Oslo to Hong Kong, and smiles.

 

Santa and Mrs. Claus successfully distribute their gifts (including one very large lump of rock candy ‘coal’ to Hana, who traded it to Jamison for ‘a favor’ before the end of the party), disappearing afterwards not to the North Pole, but to a perfectly comfortable couch with their names on it. Stretching out to rest as Ana’s fingers gently stroke over the red velvet of 'Santa’s' coat as they watch snow drift past the windows.

 

In the privacy of his room, Hanzo carefully removes the wrapping paper from the box that Genji had offered him. His fingers tremble slightly as he lifts the lid, and takes out a length of pale blue ribbon, the subtle dragon patterns screened into the silk almost invisible unless one looks at it from just the right angle.

 

Inside their hotel room, Widowmaker holds a steaming mug of hot cocoa in both hands. Across the table from her, Lena holds an identical mug, topped by a mountain of whipped cream. The Englishwoman takes a sip of her drink, and when she finishes some of the sweet topping has transferred from the cup to the tip of her button nose. Widowmaker may have difficulty feeling a connection to the holidays, but in this moment with this ridiculous girl, she smiles.

 

Jack is sitting on a Metro train heading for Bethesda and a hotel he’s booked under an assumed name when his phone buzzes with a message: 

_I didn’t forget what day it is. Please take care of yourself. -AZ.  
_

He closes his eyes, blows out a sigh, and tries to blink away a few tears as he tucks the phone back into his pocket.

 

When they wake in the morning, Aleksandra gently kisses Mei on the forehead, her green eyes filled with concern. Mei smiles, curling into her embrace for just a little longer, and is grateful that she’s _warm_.

 

_Don't forget_

_Don't forget I love_

_I love_

_I love you_


End file.
